


Centuries

by thelaziesthufflepuff



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Gen, Genderswap, be prepared, for shoujo cliches, japan is slowly finding out, the first part in a revolution, there are technically no rules against girls playing in boy's tournaments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-02-20 03:50:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2413949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelaziesthufflepuff/pseuds/thelaziesthufflepuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tezuka accidentally starts a revolution of mixed middle school tennis tournaments. There is no rule that states girls cannot compete in Boy's tournaments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This is how it starts:

**Author's Note:**

> It all started when i was thinking HEY THE TEAMS SHOULD BE MIXED. and then this came about. 
> 
> also inspired by [Miracles by half_sleeping](http://archiveofourown.org/works/447373?view_full_work=true)  
> and the recent plethora of genderswap fic for this fandom. 
> 
> also i just really like to write stupid shoujo cliches with my otps DON'T JUDGE ME

“It’s my fault,” Tezuka says, in a voice more suited for prisoners on death row. “I made him help me.”

“No it’s mine-“ Oishi argues, on the verge of tears, “I encouraged her to do it.”

Yamato rubs the bridge of his nose, trying his best to starve off an impending headache. Never has this kind of crisis happened in tennis history, and of course it happens months before he officially retires as Captain. He looks carefully at Tezuka, with her short brown hair and gangly limbs in a borrowed sports attire; she looks no different from the other male freshmen who were usually picking balls during practice. No wonder they had all been fooled; twelve year-olds barely had any distinguishing features, Tezuka merely looked like a quiet, nerdy boy.

“Well you are in a lot of trouble, you know that right?” Yamato says conversationally, “The girls’ tennis club captain wants a word with you by the way. She’s waiting for you in your club room.” Tezuka’s complexion paled, but all she did was nod and made her way swiftly to the girl’s club house.

She had guts, Yamato could concede that much. Passing herself off as a boy so she could play in practice matches against other schools would have worked, if not for the fact that she made too big of a splash in the tournament circuit, and Ryuzaki-sensei wanted to nominate Tezuka for the Newcomers tournament, which was why Yamato is here in his club room out of all places on a Saturday evening, with a junior that looks like a frightened mouse.

Oishi makes a move to follow Tezuka, but Yamato stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “We still have things to talk about Oishi-kun.” Oishi gives a gulp, clearly expecting to get yelled at. Yamato was the lowest on the ladder of authority the two of them had to deal with today, as both Tezuka and Oishi got lectures and scoldings from coaches to homeroom teachers to the school principal alike. Yamato feels slightly sorry for them both; they’ve both been put through the wringer today.

 

But there are some things he needs to know before letting Oishi go.

 

“Why did you do it?”

“Huh?” was Oishi’s befuddled reply. Clearly no one has thought to ask him that the whole time they were screaming at him.

“Why did you help her with this… thing?” Yamato elaborates with wave of his hand, encompassing the borrowed uniform, the lying, and the sheer gall of the two of them flying in the face of tradition. “We have a girls team and she’s on it, why would you want to help her play with boys? Are you in love with her?”

Oishi sputters a denial, “It’s not- we’re not like that-“ and it does not convince Yamato of his affections. Or lack of. “It’s just-you have seen Tezuka play.”

 

All of them have seen Tezuka play, and that was the problem. Tezuka Kunimitsu had more skill in her left arm than the rest of the club had put together, barring Fuji Syuusuke who was a category on his own, paired with relentless determination and an overwhelming dedication to the sport, burning brighter than anything Seishun Gakuen had seen in at least a decade.

 

“Tezuka is the best.” Oishi states in all seriousness. Yamato would say it was the delusions of puppy love, but he had thought that too, watching Tezuka demolish opponent after opponent with nothing less than her best, footwork confident and stroke steady, a silent drop shot culminating in victory. She didn’t have much upper arm strength yet, but neither did most of the freshmen, being equally scrawny at twelve. 

“She’s better than me, she’s better than Fuji- she’s better than anyone. She just wanted to play the best game she could get. Please don’t kick her out of the club.” His voice grew stronger and his back straightened. “We weren’t breaking any rules- we’ve checked! Tezuka and I would never do something illegal. There is actually no rule that says girls can’t play in boy’s tennis tournaments.”

 

“You really believe that,” he says numbly. The headache he’d been trying to starve off was back again; was Oishi even listening to himself, to what he was saying? It bordered on ridiculous.

 

Oishi looked at him in the eye, and spoke like he believed it. “Tezuka will be the best Seigaku has. She’s leading us to Nationals.”

 

* * *

 

After making sure Oishi goes home without collapsing due to over-worrying about Tezuka (that boy needs to get his priorities sorted out, he thinks, for he is in as much hot soup as she is), he finds Tezuka waiting outside silently, tennis bag by her side, unsure whether she should enter the club house. She looked slightly shaken, eyes wider than usual, and her lips are pursed sadly. She stands up straight when she sees him though, “Is Oishi in trouble?”

“Worry about yourself young lady,” Yamato wryly replies. “The situation is pretty bad for the both of you; you for making fools out of us all, and him for helping you. But other than that there seems to be no rule against it, so you got us there.”

Tezuka’s eyes flashed, stubbornness still present despite being yelled at by nearly everyone today. “There isn’t, we checked- I would never let Oishi do anything illegal. Or myself. I only wanted-“

“Yes I knew what you wanted. You only wanted to play.” He walks into the clubroom and removes his racquet from his tennis bag. “I hear from Oishi that you play the best.”  

“I play my best, Yamato-buchou.” Tezuka corrects quietly, tilt of her chin no less proud as she looks him straight in the eye.

“Well then, play your best against me.” He leads her to the nearest unused court and the game starts, he pours every bit of it he has into this game, all his hard work, bitter blood sweat and tears, pains in his left arm.

It is not enough. Tezuka is quick to counter whatever he throws at her, and soon he realizes that she’s not moving more than a step away each time; that he has been running himself ragged trying to keep up with her, while she looks on impassively behind wire-rim glasses.

The match was over faster than he expected. But he gets it now, what Oishi sees when he looks at her, all burning determination and overwhelming skill, only exceeded by her love of the sport. For her to be kicked out of the club would be a pity.

 

Yamato wants Seigaku to go to Nationals, and he has found the person to make that dream a reality.

 

“You played your best?” He says when he meets her over the net.

“Always.” Her answer is firm, much like her handshake.

“I’ll see what I can do about the club.” He promises. Seigaku needs her for Nationals. 

“…Thank you.”

 


	2. Rikkai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yukimura and Yanagi take over Rikkai Dai's boys team, as Tezuka is not sent to prison for fraud. 
> 
> The rules have not changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yukimura and Yanagi start on Rikkai.

“Did you hear? Apparently Seigaku’s Tezuka was a girl all this while.” Yukimura Seika twirls her pencil, while scrutinizing her rooftop garden. Renge knows, from the short time she has known Yukimura that she is both thinking about flower combinations while waiting for the information that Renge will provide regarding this strange turn of events.

Renge does not disappoint.

“Tezuka Kunimitsu, birthday October 7th, blood type O, currently 143 cm tall, weight unknown. She cross-dressed to take part in a practice match against Ginka from Tokyo, and apparently did too well. She has a spot in the upcoming Newcomer’s Tournament. Chances are she’ll make captain in her third year.” Renge replies without missing a beat. She would know a lot more if she were still in contact with Sadaharu; it would be so tempting to pick up the phone and punch in numbers she could recite in her sleep, but for her to call him now, over this, after everything she had done to him (for him), makes an unpleasant weight settle in her stomach.

“We could do that too Renge.”

“Make captain in our third year?”

Yukimura scowls and crosses her arms, pencil tucked behind her ear, flower garden forgotten. “Oh, don’t be obtuse. You say it as if I’m not already a captain.” And Yukimura was the unofficial captain of Rikkai’s girl’s tennis team since she stepped on the court on her first day, her authority absolute, all ruthless ambition and ridiculous talent, paired with a pretty face that had boys and several girls spluttering whenever she smiled at them. “There is nothing stopping us now, as Tezuka has proven.”

If the both of them had been more desperate, they would have looked through the rulebook first, and found out about that loophole and exploited it for all its worth. But apparently Tezuka had the idea first, and was met with equal amounts of outrage and awe from spectators and officials alike.

 But it was for the best that Tezuka did it first, Renge muses to herself. Crossdressing would definitely not work for Yukimura or herself, looking at Yukimura’s delicate features, loose ringlets flowing in the wind. It would be incredibly stupid for them to follow Tezuka’s exact example.  

“How do you plan on doing this?” Renge asks casually, as though Yukimura was not planning a coup to conquer one of the biggest sports clubs in Rikkaidai, as though Rikkai was not an entire school system priding itself on sporting excellence, as though Yukimura was not trampling all over tradition in addition to giving it a swift kick to the curb with her dainty feet.

“A direct challenge would be best. We can’t pass as boys, and they’ve been more stringent with identity checks recently.” Rikkai had been paranoid about having girls cross-dressing to play with the boys; it was a scandal a school of sporting excellence refused to consider, and they were taking steps to prevent it from happening at all cost.

As though many girls would voluntarily cross-dress to get on the Boy’s team. Honestly.

 “Are you sure you’re up to it?” Renge raises an eyebrow in question. Yukimura is good, Yukimura is better than anyone she has ever seen, the data she had painstakingly collected proved as useless as dust when she stood on the court to face her, a demon who played tennis easier than breathing, but even Yukimura cannot defeat the entire regular line-up of the boy’s team, and their pre-regulars.

At least not on her own.

 “Are you doubting me? For shame Renge.” Yukimura makes an exaggerated pout. “What do you think I should do to make this attempt…successful?”

“Challenge the captain and vice-captain. And Sanada-kun as well. When you beat the three of them, the rest should follow”.

“I see. And are you going to challenge anyone? You could knock a few regulars off their spots.”

“If it’s necessary.” Renge does not need to mention the excitement she feels at knocking down a few proud upperclassmen who equated age and physical strength with worth. Yukimura hears it anyway.

 

And it would be nice, to stand on the same court as Sadaharu once more, albeit on opposite sides.

 

“We should do it soon,” Yukimura adds, “before some traditionalist politician gets an idea to fix that rule. Tuesday would be a good day, don’t you think?”

“That soon? You’re awfully eager.”

“Of course.” Yukimura smiles with too much teeth, Renge sees ambition coiling inside Yukimura like a lethal snake, all graceful terror and delicate poison, eyes sharper than knives, and feels a slight twinge of pity for the boy’s team on Tuesday. Only a slight twinge.   

“Did you tell Sanada-kun about this?” Renge barely remembers to ask before they make their way back to class.

“… Soon. He’ll know soon enough anyway.” Yukimura blithely replies.  

 

* * *

 

Tuesday comes faster than expected. Renge notices that Yukimura has been training harder for the past few days, and she has done the same. They only get one chance at this; failure would mean being never taken seriously for the rest of their middle school days, it would mean being relegated to second best by virtue of their gender, and Renge knows how much that rankles at Yukimura, who is not considered by the public to be as good as a player Sanada was just because she was a girl, even though she trounced him nearly every weekend when they played together.

(She remembers Yukimura saying once “the best male tennis player is the best in the world, but the best female tennis player is only the best female tennis player. What crap, don’t you think so?”)

Yukimura’s grip on her racket is knuckle-white, but her footsteps are steady and unhurried as they deliberately walk in plain sight, cutting across the tennis courts to make their way to where the captain of the boy’s club was supervising warm-up stretches. There are some noises from curious members, wondering what were two _girls_ doing here, _this is the boy’s tennis club, is the captain dating one of them? Does he even date freshmen?_

Yukimura stops right in front of the captain.

“Senpai, can I request a match with you?”

The courts fall silent. Renge sees, from the corner of her eyes, Sanada’s pale disbelieving face.

“Excuse me?” The captain all but squawks, barely believing his ears.

“I want a match. Please.” Yukimura belatedly remembers to be polite.

“Why?”

 _So I can prove that I’m at least as good as you are_ , Yukimura does not say. _So I can prove that I’m better, and you’ll never beat me._

“Why not?” Yukimura’s smile is sweet, but Renge doesn’t miss the warning note in her voice. Before the captain get come up with a coherent answer past his sputtering, Yukimura adds, voice loud and clear, echoing around the empty courts, “ or are you scared of playing a twelve year-old girl?”

 

* * *

 

The pieces fall into place quickly enough soon after, just like how Renge knew it would.

 

The captain on the boy’s team, who led Rikkai to victory during Nationals, crumples at Yukimura’s feet in 15 minutes.

The vice-captain doesn’t last more than 10 minutes.   

 

The courts are silent. The whole of Rikkai’s tennis club (both male and female, once news spread of Yukimura’s challenge, nothing could have kept the tennis club members away) watches in quiet horror as their defending champions fall one by one, to a slip of a twelve year-old girl.

Sanada doesn’t look surprised. He knows better than anyone how brilliantly Yukimura plays; how losing to Yukimura feels like.   

 

By evening, Yukimura’s coup is complete. There is no resistance as she steps into the club house to change, the crowd of terrified by-standers parting easily to let her by, Renge and Sanada falling beside, slightly behind her, but always matching her step for step.  

 

Nothing speaks louder in Rikkai than victory; victory is the only language Rikkai speaks.

 

Victory is the only language Rikkai understands. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave Kudos and Comments if you liked it!
> 
> (also credit goes to half_sleeping for that last line. teikou and rikkai have too many similarities)


	3. Japan is not what Atobe expected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Japan is not what Atobe expected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( a la the Hyoutei side of things)

Atobe Keigo finds Japan fascinating. In his first year of middle school, he took over the tennis club and the school on his first day. That was no surprise, even if he had to deal with a few …dissenters along the way. (Shishido would like those etiquette classes he prescribed for her; a young girl like herself shouldn’t be swearing so much in public right at him after all. Her red-haired friend looked simultaneously amused and horrified at the news; she and Yuushi have got along fabulously) He has plans to conquer the middle school tennis scene as well; one must dream big in order to succeed, his father made sure he remembered that. He keeps a close eye on Rikkai Dai, they’re the biggest contenders for the first place trophy. Yuushi is keeping track of Shitenhouji via his cousin Oshitari Kenya, and it’s too early for him to bother with them yet. There are other schools, but Hyoutei has always been strong; weaklings are crushed under Hyoutei’s school system like dried leaves in autumn.

 

He does not expect Seigaku.

 

He definitely does not expect Tezuka Kunimitsu.

 

He has heard of her of course, how could anyone not have heard about the girl who cross-dressed just to play on the boy’s team, and how this caused Yukimura Seika and Yanagi Renge from Rikkai to launch a hostile takeover his own father would be proud of over their own school, and how Rikkai’s administration had thrown their hands up in exasperation and surrender and just decided to have mixed teams instead. Rikkai could have pushed for the loophole to be fixed, if they truly wanted to uphold tradition, but what Rikkai wants is to win, and their best chance for victory lies in three freshmen regulars, two girls and one boy, so they’ll make the gamble. It is something Atobe can appreciate; one must use all advantages they have to get ahead, it would be a disservice otherwise.    

 

The rules have not changed. (They have been ignored, as middle schools around Japan sit up and take notice, as middle-school girls stand up holding racquets and hopes in their hands, daring to stand on the court.)

 

The famed Tezuka Kunimitsu doesn’t look like much; she has brown hair tied into a tiny ponytail, a pair of glasses perched on her face, gangly arms and knobby knees, swimming in a regular’s jacket big enough to cover most of her skirt. She looks nothing special, least of all a girl who accidentally caused a change in tradition so big it could almost become something new.

She trounces Hyoutei’s previous captain in 20 minutes. His third year senior (ex-captain) is left gaping at the net as she walks away after the required handshake. Hyoutei’s cheering squad is left similarly in shock, there is a lot of whispering and pointing, but no one from Hyoutei is _cheering,_ and that is simply unacceptable.

Seigaku on the other hand is screaming themselves hoarse with glee, he sees Tezuka Kunimitsu gets treated to at least a dozen head pats and back slaps, and her seniors look very close to kissing her in thanks. He would like to be sorry for crushing their hopes, but he’s not.

 

The weak cannot stay on the court. 

 

He steps on the court and crushes Yamato Yuudai in 15 minutes. He spots Tezuka from the corner of his eyes, watching impassively with her hands tightly clutching her racquet hard enough to hurt as her captain loses the last match of their tennis season.

 

Hyoutei proceeds to the Kanto finals as predicted. Seigaku does not qualify for Nationals.

 

That does not stop the persistent phantom itch under his skin when he saw her play his captain, all terrifying control and surety, as steady as water flowing downhill, the silent beauty of a drop shot in motion. Seigaku’s captain is a letdown in comparison, street food after gourmet cuisine, not worth his time. He could beat players like him in his sleep. No wonder Seigaku has never made it to Nationals, if this is the caliber of their captain. To say he is disappointed is an understatement.         

 

He looks at her when both teams are lining up across the net, _and thinks you should have played me instead._

_My opponent should have been you._

 

(He makes the proposal to Sakaki-sensei after Hyoutei loses to Rikkai in the National tournament. He remembers Rikkai’s Yukimura, Yanagi and Sanada cutting through their opponents like hot knives through butter, how Rikkai Dai’s Yukimura smiled, with terrifying joy and abandon as she lifted the trophy in the air, and he wants to win. He wants Hyoutei to win, and if there are girls in Hyoutei that are strong enough, on par with Yukimura or Yanagi or Tezuka, he wants them all on his side.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave comments and kudos if liked!


	4. The Worst Blind (Not) Date Ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanada and Tezuka have the worst blind (not) date ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHOUJO CLICHES. IS ANYONE SURPRISED. I DID WARN YOU GUYS IT WOULD HAPPEN.
> 
> aka the one where Sanada and Tezuka go on a blind date because their moms made them.

“I think our parents want us to date.” Genichirou confesses, repressing the urge to slam his head against the table until he was blessedly unconscious. Firstly, because his head would have bled all over table and made a mess, secondly, he would have to pay for the damages, in addition to paying for this sham of a date in a posh coffee house. Their cakes had to be made out of gold for them to cost this much; maybe the gold was hidden between the unhealthy amount of frosting and chocolate. (Marui had sworn that they tasted like heaven; Sanada feels very sorry for Jackal’s wallet.)  Thirdly (but definitely not lastly), their respective grandfathers were sitting at the park bench next to the café, pretending that they weren't spying on their beloved grandchildren’s terrible first date.  

 

If Tezuka were ruder she would have snorted loudly in his face, but as she was a well-mannered young lady (according to his parents anyway, and what did they know, well-mannered young ladies did not cross dress to take part in tennis tournaments to begin with), she merely sniffed at him and shot him a commiserating look; both of them had been strong-armed by terrifying forces of nature that is their respective mothers to _just go out this once I’ve worked so hard to organize this s/he plays tennis too talk about that-_ basically, to go on a blind date.

 

Genichirou knows that his mother has been making inferences and references about his lack of a love life for a while now, claiming that he needs to fully appreciate his Springtime of Youth, and his brother chimed in _so helpfully_ about the importance of finding someone _special_ at that age and Genichirou had to scoff at that; his brother found someone special and promptly knocked her up, and when he mentioned that his mother merely frowned at him and told him to wait till marriage, while his annoying brother whispered “CONDOMS” at a volume more suited for a yell, and there was Genichirou protesting he didn't need to do this, he had tennis and kendo and calligraphy all worthwhile and noble pursuits for a boy his age, and then his mother looked at him disappointingly and sighed really loudly, and before he knew it his entire family was against him (even Sasuke, that traitor, even after Genichirou lent him his cellphone that one time).

 

So he is here, doomed to spend half of his allowance in a posh café with a highly unimpressed Tezuka Kunimitsu. They didn't bring their racquets, and they should have. It would have made the afternoon a lot easier to bear. But he didn't know he would be meeting Tezuka and judging from her stunned face when he walked through the automated glass doors of the café, she wasn't expecting him either.

 

She is wearing makeup. It makes her eyes look bigger and her eyelashes longer. That is new too, along with the long purple dress she’s wearing.

 

“How long do we need to sit here for?” He misses his cap already; he had to leave it at home because Mother said it wouldn’t match his new outfit (a new white collared shirt and black pants, he felt ridiculous leaving his house, and not just because Sasuke yelled “looking good old man!” when he stepped outside).

 

“At least two hours.” Tezuka replies grimly, tucking an unruly lock of hair behind her ear. She should know; she has been subjected to a lot more blind dates then he is. Perils of being a young woman, he thinks. Her hair is out of its customary ponytail and tied into a long braid instead, and Genichirou thinks she could use it to slap unruly suitors away.  Maybe she could do that to Atobe; that would be hilarious.

 

The both of them stare at each other. The clock in the café ticks loudly, but time seems to crawl on end. Only the flowers he brought her (from Yukimura’s own garden, Yukimura picked them herself and gave them to him, amused) seem to enjoy the proceedings, remaining cheerful and lively as Tezuka and Sanada stare blankly at each other; waiting for something to happen so they can get on with their lives.

 

He takes a look at the clock; only five minutes have passed. They need to talk about something; anything- maybe tennis. Tennis is always good.

 

“I’m sorry that your parents made you meet me.” Tezuka says suddenly, “Especially when you already have someone.”

 

“What?” Genichirou stares blankly at Tezuka; he doesn't recall having anything resembling a significant other.

 

“I won’t tell, don’t worry your secret is safe with me.” Tezuka assures him hurriedly, eyes serious.

 

“What secret?” To say Genichirou is confused would be an understatement; he has no dirty secrets or significant someone and clearly all the tennis that Tezuka has been playing- all the Gates that she had opened have clearly addled her brain, if she is seeing things that are not there. It may be a side-effect from achieving Saiki Kanpatsu no Kiwami, and he makes a mental note to ask Renge if such a thing was possible.

 

“That you and Yukimura are dating.” Tezuka says simply, while taking a small bite of the slice of green tea-flavoured cake in front of her. Genichirou spits out his tea, and Tezuka makes a face and passes him one of the napkins provided by the café.

 

“We’re not- not- where did you even-?” Genichirou doesn't even know when to start; him and Yukimura- him dating Yukimura it is unthinkable she is his friend his best friend and well--

 

She’s too good for him. She plays tennis beautifully, draws artwork that can stun people a mile away, she can make anyone smile and cry in the same sentence. She can do a lot better than him; someone who is more short-tempered than he likes to be, traditional to the point of being old-fashioned, someone who can’t even figure out how to change his ringtone to something less incriminating than SexyBack after Niou fiddled with it.

 

Tezuka is still staring at him like she can’t believe his words. “The both of you are not dating?” She asks incredulously. “But you like her a lot. And she likes you too.”

 

“Yes, because we are friends,” Genichirou retorts, ignoring the tiny wellspring of hope that sprung up at Tezuka’s words. “You have to like your friends.” Renge’s friend Inui Sadaharu is going to have a lot to answer for, achieving the Pinnacle of Perfection may not give one ideas, but being friends with Inui definitely will. He recalls the flutes of golden liquid masquerading as harmless drinks Renge brought during last practice and shudders. Tezuka must be mistaken; Inui probably said something to her.  

 

“Well yes, but the both of you like each other a lot more than friends. Everyone can see that.” Tezuka insists, stubborn in this just like in everything else in her life; when they were children, they had competed (Genichirou treated them as competitions, Tezuka probably thought he was ridiculous but she refused to lose, putting her best effort in everything, and their grandfathers would not have accepted anything less) over many things- shogi matches, oldie song lyrics, Kamen Rider chronology. Tennis was merely the biggest competition, one that Tezuka did not win as much as completely obliterate him, and it had hurt; the disappointment and crushed pride cutting like broken glass in his throat, when he knelt on the tennis court and tried to breathe as Tezuka and Yukimura focused on each other like warring kings.  

 

But that was over now, and Tezuka is still has that stubborn tilt of her chin present as she speaks to him, daring him to contradict her words.

 

“Look you’ve got it wrong. Yukimura doesn't like me in that way.” Genichirou knows better than to hope, he is a plain rock while Yukimura is the sun; and if Yukimura had feelings for him, wouldn’t he notice it? Besides, he’s not taking relationship advice from Tezuka out of all people, a girl so romantically dense she didn’t realize Atobe Keigo has a crush the size of the moon for her since that eventful match during Regionals. “Besides what about you and Atobe?” He shoots back.

 

“What about me and Atobe?” Tezuka narrows her eyes. “There is nothing between me and Atobe. We are friends.”

 

Genichirou shoots her the same disbelieving look he has been subjected to since the conversation turned to Yukimura’s non-existent feelings for him.

 

“We play tennis together. And go fishing sometimes. And sometimes we go to bookstores for book signings, like the one held last December.” Tezuka adds.

 

“Atobe Keigo goes with you to a bookstore for book signings.” Genichirou cannot believe his ears.

 

“Yes he does.” Tezuka replies, slightly defensive.

 

“Atobe Keigo waits in line with you for three hours so you can get your book signed at a random bookstore.” Genichirou cannot believe this; imagining Atobe Keigo spending his time stuck outside on a cold winter’s afternoon, in a queue of at least a hundred ordinary people waiting to get into a bookstore; waiting with Tezuka just so she can get her book signed, and Tezuka not finding it odd _at all_. Atobe Keigo, who could get the author’s signature with a flick of his finger, chooses to wait outside buffeted by cold wind, wasting his time, just to accompany Tezuka. This is almost as unreal as Yukimura's romantic feelings for him.

 

“He likes that author too. And it wouldn’t be fair to the other fans if we just cut the queue. They appreciate his work as much as we do.” Tezuka says, and Genichirou suddenly feels sorry for Atobe, what it must be like, he thinks, to fall in love with someone so hopelessly oblivious that whatever you do flies over her head. Not that he thinks Atobe is good enough for Tezuka; if anything, the thought of a relationship between the both of them makes his head hurt.

 

(But unrequited love is a painful thing to suffer from, and he should know, when he thinks of Yukimura’s crying face as she screams at him to _GET OUT SANADA GET OUT,_ when she smiles at Genichirou the same way she smiles at Renge, at Niou and Yagyuu, at Akaya, at Marui and Jackal.

Yukimura loves tennis the most.)

 

He realizes, with growing horror, that if Atobe and Tezuka do end up married, Atobe would become a brother-in-law in all but name, as their grandfathers may have argued like cats and dogs, but that is because they are two sides of the same coin, still contacting each other every day to compare white hairs and wrinkles, to check up on each other in their own way, and Genichirou knows that this is love too. They are family, and it shows in shared photo albums and weekend visits, camping trips and festival fireworks. Tezuka is the rival-cousin-sister-friend he has never wanted, but she’s still here, despite years of antagonism (from his side, mostly) and distance, and somewhere in his heart _very_ deep down, he is grateful.     

 

But he is not ready for Atobe to be family; he will never be ready for Atobe to be family. The thought of seeing Atobe at their regular camping trips and joint family dinners nearly causes him to have an aneurysm, but he realizes that he doesn’t need to worry, because Tezuka is never going to notice Atobe’s feelings, and Atobe will move on to marry some socialite, and he will never see him at their family gatherings.

 

Maybe he can invite Yukimura over too, she is family, she deserves a place, after all she has been there for most of his life, and his parents and grandfather adore her, Sasuke adores her, and so does his parents- if Yukimura wants to, that is, if she hasn’t married someone else or left to live in another country far away from him and just the thought of her being away from him makes his heart clench; he does not want to think about graduation.    

 

Tezuka, meanwhile, sips her tea quietly, oblivious to his inner turmoil.  

 

Genichirou looks at the clock; they have one and a half more hours to go.

 

(it completely escapes him until years later, when he’s standing next to Seika in a newly bought tuxedo, saying words he should have said years ago, and will be saying in the years to come, words he had been proving over and over through his actions even before he knew what they meant, and Seika leans in to kiss him even before the go-ahead is given, and that doesn't surprise him anymore; this is Seika too, determined and darling, taking what she wants with both hands, and pulling him along for the ride, no, not much has changed then either.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave comments or kudos if liked!


	5. Shishido, and hair, and Hyoutei

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shishido Ryouko, of hair and pride and Hyoutei.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a chapter i wanted to write for a really long time SHISHIDO'S IMPORTANT HAIRCUT.  
> in the end it became really long as it became Shishido has Feelings about Hair and Tennis and Ohtori.

Shishido is five when she meets Gakuto and Jirou, for they are impossible to miss, Gakuto's bright red hair decorated with a polkadot hairband, Jirou's soft golden curls hastily pinned back with neon coloured clips. Shishido's own hair is brown, ordinary and unremarkable in comparison, and sometimes she finds herself wishing that she was blessed with beautiful hair, and not hair the colour of tree trunks she climbs and the muddy tracks she leaves behind when she walks into her house, forgetting again to wipe her feet on the floormat, much to her mother's dismay.

 

Then she is seven, and some of the older girls jeer at Gakuto and Jirou's hair, when they tug at them to make sure they're real, when Jirou and Gakuto are crying, Shishido steels her jaws and storms up to them with lightning in her fists and rage in her eyes, hair flying wild but not wilder than the snarl on her face, and no one dares to bother Gakuto and Jirou after that.

 

Shishido cares less about her hair after that. There are some things more important after all.

 

(There is a boy she remembers with silver in his hair, bright even after it was drenched in seawater. He had beautiful hair too.

Maybe she'll see him again.)

 

* * *

 

 

At twelve, Shishido keeps her hair long, tied into a simple ponytail during classes and at home. Her hair is long and thick, with a glossy shine that clearly shows the time and effort put into its care, her one concession to femininity (other than the school skirt, but that doesn't count, it's against regulation to wear anything else.)

 

When she lets it down in front of the mirror, she is prouder of it than words can say. Plain brown has never looked so lovely. The girls in Hyoutei Academy all have beautiful hair, but Shishido can say with certainty that her hair holds her own in the pecking order, what she does not have in colour she makes up for it in length and quality, the flick of a ponytail as she walks away with Gakuto and Jirou, somber brown between bright red and cheerful gold, with tennis rackets in their hands.

When she leaps through the air to snatch a falling baby from the sky, she doesn't notice how her hair fans behind her, strands almost glinting gold in the sunlight.

(The boy notices though, the same one with silver in his hair, and it takes his breath away.)

 

* * *

 

 

Atobe Keigo has hair like sunshine, like gold, like spun-silk, like a fairy-tale prince. and he looks at all of them like he expects them to fall into place behind him _just like that_ , and Shishido tries very hard not to punch him in the face. Oshitari Yuushi, with untidy dark hair framing his face, is only slightly more tolerable. Gakuto and Jirou adore them though, and jump at the chance of possibly joining a mixed team, playing against other mixed teams, chasing glory and a adventure.

 

Shishido wants glory too, and she knows her own abilities on the court.

 

She makes the team in her second year.

 

(Her promise of glory stings a little more with each practice, as Gakuto and Oshitari drift closer and closer to each other, his dark head bent to whisper something into her ear, the red strands of Gakuto's hair dancing in the wind as she laughs as his words. Jirou meanwhile, naps through practice unless Atobe promises her a match, and still manages to beat Shishido in every practice match with her volleys, a feat made possible with her flexible wrists, a gift from the gods, just like her hair.

 

It stings more than a little, truth be told.)

 

The three of them don't sit together for lunch anymore. She tells herself that she doesn't mind, they can clearly hang out with _boys_ or in Jirou's case, nap under the big tree until it is time for class, and she is perfectly fine on her own.

 

She still has tennis; she still has a spot on the team; that cannot be taken away from her.

 

(The brush of her ponytail across her back feels lonely, and she takes care to make sure no strands of hair fall into her soup.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tachibana Kiyoko is an intimidating presence from a no-name school, with her dark hair buzzed short, highlighting her strong features and the mole on her forehead. She looks ridiculous, Shishido thinks, and doesn’t hide the sneer on her face. Even a tomboy such as herself knows how important nice hair is to a girl, and here Tachibana has cut hers so short she may as well be a nun. Tachibana may be a nationally-ranked player back in Kyuushuu, but Tokyo is not Kyuushuu, whatever title she held there doesn’t _matter,_ and Hyoutei is a nationally ranked school, and Shishido is one of their best. The regualr's jacket she wears proves it.

 

Shishido knows she can win. She flicks her hair and boasts.

 

The winner will be Hyoutei.

 

 

She doesn't win. No matter what shots she hits, how fast she runs, Tachibana is always one step ahead of her. The last shot that matters goes right between her two legs, and she could do nothing more than to watch Tachibana land lightly on her feet, as the score was confirmed by the officials present, as that ragtag team (Fudomine, she reads, from their jerseys) celebrates their victory through loud cheers and hugs. 

 

Her hair falls half-out of her neat ponytail, longer strands plastered to her face, drenched in sweat, while Tachibana strolls away like a lioness after a successful kill, hair too short to be affected by something as fickle as wind.

 

To add insult to injury, it was over in a mere 15 minutes just like she predicted, less than the time she takes to care for her hair, only now she is on the losing end. Hyoutei's tiny cheering squad is silent, and she would not have heard them anyway, drowning in the sound of wild panic and disbelief in her lungs.

 

Hyoutei Gakuen, for the first time in years, does not make it past the Prefecture Tournament, and Shishido is subsequently dismissed from the team, shame and despair mingling in her heart with defiant anger _(how could this have happened)_ , long ponytail nearly wrapped around her neck like a noose.

 

* * *

 

 

(Jirou and Gakuto walk on eggshells around her for the next few days, when they finally gather together for lunch in what seems like years. Conversation that flows between them is awkward and stilted, both of them pointedly avoiding the elephant in room, and Jirou is actually awake for once and trying so hard to be cheerful but Shishido, even with her mind clouded with the worst loss she has experienced in a long while, can read the pity in their eyes.

 

It pisses her off. It is easy, for them to sit there and talk big, they weren’t the ones who lost, who got Hyoutei kicked out of a tournament they should have been able to win, who got dropped from the Regulars until Sakaki deems it possible for her to come back, which is as possible as dinosaurs fighting Han Solo in real life. Hyoutei doesn't abide losing. )

 

* * *

 

 

It galls her to have to ask Ohtori for help- he’s two heads taller than her despite being a year younger, but she has no choice, there is no one else she could ask for this, no one else who would be willing to help her, and those willing will not be able to help her as much as he can with that serve of his (faster than a blink of an eye, the force of a meteor strike behind it).

 

She needs to get back on the team. Tennis is what she has, despite the new realisation that she may not be that good at it as she expected. She doesn't have Atobe and Oshitari’s overwhelming talent, Gakuto’s acrobatics or Jirou’s flexible wrists, pure strength like Kabaji or immense concentration like Hiyoshi. She doesn't have the height to pull off serves like Ohtori does, and she can’t even compare to the girls playing in other schools, Tezuka Kunimitsu from Seigaku, Tachibana Kiyoko from Fudomine, Yukimura Seika and Yanagi Renge from Rikkai Dai. The only thing she has (had, a tiny voice in her mind whispers) is her grit, her determination to chase down every ball like it’s the last point of the match, and even that technique of hers can be improved upon.

 

Hence the need for Ohtori’s help. His serves will be the perfect training tool for her; if she can catch one of his serves with her hands, she can catch any shot. She has seen Ohtori during practice, firing serve after serve with Taki at his side, against the pre-regulars. Not all of his serves made it over the net, but even those that failed were quick, powerful, and when she makes it back on the team ( _if,_ the same tiny voice whispers again, for Hyoutei has never had someone reinstated in years), she can help him with his control in return. Maybe. It’s a good thought to have, and it stops her from feeling like a petty grubby senior who takes advantage of her junior’s kindness just because he isn't comfortable with rejecting her request.

   

It’s his problem, she reminds herself, if he can’t say no to her. It’s not her fault.

 

It’s not her fault, she reminds herself, as Ohtori looks like he’s waging an internal war with himself as he picks up another tennis ball to serve it straight at her, and hits her hard on her arm, her stomach, her face. It’s not his fault, she wryly thinks as she nurses the growing bruises decorating her body in the wee hours of the morning, it’s not his fault she hasn't gotten the hang of it.

 

He pleads for her to _stop this please, or I’m leaving,_ and it takes nearly everything in Shishido to ask him to stay longer, just for an hour _please don’t go_ , because this is important, because if she fails she will have nothing, and there is nothing else for her to do but to try harder, run faster, move quicker and she tells him that too, in words that rush out all at once from her throat, in actions, when she gets up again and again, after the sickening crunch of rubber against flesh and bone. And maybe it’s pity, maybe it’s admiration, or maybe he’s just curious to see the end results of her self-inflicted Spartan training, but Ohtori continues to show up, night after night, waiting for her at under the streetlights, next to the court.  

 

He’s a good kid. She is lucky to have him for a junior.

 

 _(Why_ , he asked once, desperately curious, exhausted, with a slight tinge of hysteria, at the end of one of their practices. _Why are you doing this._

 

 _For me_ , she had replied, staring at him the best that she could through the pain, and she could tell that he did not understand, but that was fine, Ohtori didn’t need to understand, all he needed to do was to continue serving for her, at her.

 

Ohtori looked at her then, quiet and intense, and he continued looking when they sat on the benches next to the court to the rest. She must have looked like a mess, hair falling all over her face, body littered with bruises, with a healing split lip and cuts on her face. In comparison, Ohtori looks like a star, hair glowing silver under the street lights, similar to the cross hanging around his neck. She wonders what he thinks of her after so many similar nights of frustration, he’s probably regretting a lot of his life choices about now. Most boys, when staying out so late, would want to hang out with their friends or hot girls. She is neither at the moment.

 

The antiseptic stings when applied, but Ohtori’s ( _Choutarou’s_ , he is Choutarou to her, after days of firing serves at her body she thinks they are past acquaintances at least)  hands are gentle on her face as he dabs at her cuts with cotton swabs he took from home.

 

He’s a good person, she thinks, and she hopes he forgives her for all that she put him through.

 

Maybe they can be friends after this arrangement. One can hope.)

 

* * *

 

All the hope that Shishido could have had is blithely crushed by Sakaki as he takes one look at Taki on his hands and knees on one side of the court and the scoreboard, and simply dismisses what is written on it, dropping Taki from the regulars and easily replacing him with Hiyoshi before turning around to leave. The despair she feels is quickly strangled by frustration, by rage, by numb shock as Sakaki didn’t even deem her important enough to acknowledge, that her effort, weeks of blood and sweat and occasional tears are deemed inconsequential in the running of Hyoutei’s 200-strong tennis club.

 

Before she can stop herself, she bursts out, “Coach, why is it Hiyoshi…How come it’s not me? I’m the one who defeated Taki!” It sounds very immature to her ears, not to mention very unconvincing, but she couldn’t tamp down those words any more than she could her feelings, when she is angry and disappointed and frustrated all at once, wanting so badly to hit something- anything- at the unfairness of it all.

 

Because Atobe has the worst timing ever, he pipes in with a“that’s disgraceful, Shishido.” She has no time for this, getting curb-stomped by Tachibana while Atobe watched silently was terrible enough, but now Atobe gets to see her be kicked when she’s already down. Sakaki just glances at Atobe and walks away, and the despair that she felt in the beginning was coming back.

 

Atobe continues speaking like nothing happened. “You lost terribly to Fudomine’s Tachibana after all. Our coach won’t use those who have already lost, even if they are girls.” Shishido snarls because she knows that, in Hyoutei’s tennis team there are at least a hundred girls trying to fight for spots on the mixed team, and she is easily replaceable and she _doesn’t need Atobe telling her that._

 

“Since then, Shishido-san has been doing unimaginable tough training for the past two weeks!” A familiar voice speaks, and to her surprise it’s Ohtori, standing tall and speaking to Atobe without flinching. What on earth is he trying to do?   

 

Atobe is unimpressed with Ohtori’s words, and raises his eyebrow to prompt Ohtori to continue speaking, but Ohtori doesn’t say anything else, his jaw clenching tight. Not like she can fault him, she doesn’t even know what to say for herself, let alone for someone else. It’s over.

 

“If that’s the case, don’t talk to me about it. Go talk to the coach.” Atobe is exasperated and rolling his eyes, and in usual circumstances Shishido would be pissed, but now all she does is to fling her racket aside and start running in the Sakaki’s direction, uncaring of those who see her looking like a disheveled ghoul, long hair falling out of the ponytail, bruises on her limbs, scabs on her face. She is not alone though, there are footsteps behind her, and she hears Ohtori call her from behind.

 

Sakaki didn’t get very far, but that doesn’t matter, as Ryouko’ drops to her knees and bows low before she reaches him. Her long hair trails to the ground, and it reminds her of the pair of metal scissors in the pocket of her shorts, something she brought on impulse. Just in case. It is surprisingly heavy.

 

Sakaki turns around after an almost painful beat. “Is there something else you want?” He asks, disinterested.

 

“I’m begging you. Please, let me be on the regular team again!” There is nothing else she can say, she has spent many nights under harsh fluorescent lights pelted with tennis balls that move as fast as bullet trains, trying again and again, failing again and again, trying, just trying, in case there was a chance, however slim, of getting her regular spot back.

 

If this is not enough, if all her blood and sweat and tears are not enough, then there is nothing else she can do but to keep her tennis racket at the back of her cupboard, never to be taken out other than for an occasional practice game.   

 

“Coach, being Shishido-senpai’s practice partner for the past weeks…I’ve witnesses her shedding blood and sweat during his training. Please, I’m also asking you this.” Ohtori’s voice is a surprise, for she never expected him to continue speaking up for her, she got his doubles partner dropped from the team for heaven’s sake, surely that must have sunk in by now. She looks up through her hair to gauge Sakaki’s expression, maybe Ohtori’s words would have an impact, he’s still a regular after all, and his serve is a powerful weapon against other schools.

 

“Then, Ohtori, do you want to be dropped out of the regulars instead?” Her head snaps back up painfully in shock, and she stares at Sakaki with something like horror, but Sakaki just looks genuinely curious, and not like someone who is trying to stamp on Ohtori’s offer of help by giving him a terrible ultimatum.

 

Ohtori has to say no. He has to.

 

“I don’t mind.” Shishido's mouth drops open in equal parts indignation and horror, there is no way Ohtori did- there is no way he said what he did- but looking at the calm look on Ohtori’s face, the way he looks almost serene, and she knows she did not mishear his words even with blood pounding in her ears.

 

There is no way she is letting him give up his regular’s spot for her. No way in hell.

 

She remembers the weight in her right pocket, its edges digging into her thigh. It should have been warm from her body heat, but in her hands, it feels chilly, cold with the sense of finality. She knows what else she can do now, and she takes her ponytail (her hair, her pride and joy, she remembers herself thinking, a long time ago) with one hand and the scissors with the other, and doesn’t delay the inevitable.

 

She cuts it off. The sound the scissors makes is awfully loud to her ears, and it would be, for the surroundings are silent, short of Ohtori’s wordless cry of dismay.

 

Her hair escapes from her elastic band and falls to the ground soundlessly, gracefully, with grim finality.

 

“Shishido-san!” Ohtori exclaims, sounding shocked to his core. “What are you doing? Isn’t this the hair you’re so proud of?”

 

It is, and that is why she is cutting all of it off now, as much as she can, attacking her own hair with scissors, and locks of hair fall from her head.

 

There is no room for pride here. She had lost the right to be proud when she lost to Tachibana. Tachibana, who also had cut her hair short. She remembers researching on Tachibana Kiyoko after her fateful loss, and remembers seeing her with bleached gold hair all the way to her waist in photos online. Did she lose her pride too, she wondered, or did she do it as some kind of atonement? She will never know, but at least for herself, she knows her reasons.

 

She raises her head again, and this time it’s easier, for its lighter, with most of her hair on the ground next to the scissors.

 

Sakaki cannot take Ohtori’s regular’s spot. She won’t let him, even if she has to stab herself (or him) with the scissors. Sakaki merely looks at her, still unimpressed, but Shishido just stares levelly back; there is nothing he could do her that she has not done to herself already.  

 

“Coach,” someone speaks up from behind them, and to Shishido's surprise it is Atobe, who makes his way in front of them and stops in front of Sakaki. “That girl over there,” he says, tilting his chin at her, “she still hasn’t lost.”

 

To hear Atobe speaking for her is more shocking than the bargain Sakaki gave Ohtori, for Sakaki is mostly ruthless at the best of times, so his comment to Ohtori, while terrible, is not wholly unexpected.

 

But Atobe has no need to speak up for her. They have never gotten along since their first day of school, with her experiencing his arrogant behaviour first-hand and utterly disliking him, and with a twinge of regret she realises that she had been acting exactly as he did in his first year, only she had nothing to back it up with.

 

Atobe does though. And Atobe is throwing his weight behind her.

 

“Coach,” Atobe replies when Sakaki doesn’t answer. “I’m also asking you this!”

 

There is silence from Sakaki. Shishido is truly at her wits end, she had shed blood and sweat and tears for this moment, she had defeated a regular, she had begged and grovelled, and Ohtori even offered to _give up his spot for her,_ she had cut her hair with her own hands, and now she has Atobe on her side.

 

There is nothing left for her to do but hope.

 

In the end, Sakaki just turns and walks away, but not before saying, “Do whatever you want.”

 

It sounds like approval to her ears, and she and Ohtori share similar looks of relieved joy.  

 

The wind ruffles her hair almost playfully, and Shishido has never felt better.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave comments and kudos if liked!


	6. Oishi and Seigaku

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tezuka leaves for Kyushu; Oishi tries his best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (in seigaku, momoshirou, kikumaru and taka-san are the girls in addition to Tezuka)

Tezuka has to leave for Kyuushuu; a decision quickly made by the swelling of her shoulder, but one that is no less heavy for its necessity. Oishi tries not to cry too much when he hears, but it’s hard, and it’s going to be harder, and before he knows it the team goes bowling and watches the sun rising together over a mountain and Tezuka is on a plane to recovery, to somewhere far far away from all of them.

 

(He remembers nearly crying when he looks at her after she tells him the news before anyone else, the both of them sitting quietly in the empty clubroom smelling strongly of deodorant; he remembers thinking _if only you had been more careful, if only you had been less reckless, if only the team had been stronger, if only I had been more forceful, if only I could have made you stop-_

He cuts himself off there. Regret is a luxury he cannot afford, not with semi-finals around the corner.

And he knows better than anyone how futile it is to change Tezuka’s mind once it’s made up. One might as well scream at the rain for being wet, at the sun for being hot, at Atobe Keigo for being rich enough to pay for Tezuka’s treatment, and guilty enough to organize practice matches with his team.

It had better be guilt Atobe feels, Oishi thinks worriedly, because anything else would be a whole new can of worms, a can of expensive worms with teeth that are infected by rabies that Tezuka should throw away immediately, but knowing Tezuka she would probably use the can of rabied worms as fish bait to catch equally rabied fish, and Oishi should really just stop thinking about this because it’s giving him another headache; he does not need to remember the look Atobe gave Tezuka when she walked away from him at the net, lingering and longing, only gone when Tezuka disappeared from his line of sight.)

 

He’s interim captain for now, and although he knows the full scope of Tezuka’s duties, it is unsurprisingly difficult to fill her shoes. Deciding ranking matches, cleaning the courts, organizing practice, all this he can do, but _it’s not enough._ He has to yell at the top of his lungs for Momoshirou and Kaidou to stop fighting, when Tezuka would have just glared at them and they would have settled down, meek as lambs. He resists the urge to email her every hour, knowing that she needs time to recuperate, but sometimes he just wants to ask and ask and ask _how are you doing, are you well, how can I be more like you, I don’t think I can do this, I’m not you, we need you back, I miss you._

 

There are at least 20 emails to Tezuka in his drafts folder; Oishi doesn’t have the nerve to click on the ‘send’ button. Tezuka has more important things to think about than to worry about him anyway.

 

Semi-finals take place in two weeks; the calendar in the clubroom hangs ominously like a hangman’s noose, and Oishi crosses off each passing day with a bright red marker.  

 

The team throws itself into practice with a fervour unseen before, the weight of Tezuka’s sacrifice hanging in the clubroom and in their hearts, in her locker that remains resolutely closed, gathering dust, in the absence of a steady voice ordering more laps. Momoshirou and Kaidou argue; with the sharp bite of their arguments are long gone, united in purpose and spirit. Inui stays longer, watches more carefully, filling up three notebooks in half a week, data then imputed electronically into an email attachment for Tezuka. His juices get more potent, their ingredients more questionable. Fuji opens his eyes more, revealing deadly focus, better play. Taka-chan does push-ups in the hundreds, brings extra sushi as gifts for the regulars and is the first one to arrive to practice, hitting tennis balls into plastic cones on the court.  

 

Echizen actually makes it on time for morning practice without yawning too much, and he doesn’t sneak away to sleep in a corner under the trees next to the court. And when he plays, he plays like there is something bigger, greater, more valuable than himself out there, and when he plays it seems like he’s strong enough to push the rest of them to greater heights, snarking all the way.

 

Eiko laughs still, but jumps until her thighs are sore and her arms feel like mush and she continues to jump anyway, laughing all the while. Oishi is hopelessly thankful for that, and when she jumps to sling a friendly arm around his neck he feels a little lighter despite the additional weight.

 

Oishi practices with an almost obsessive consistency. He has to do all he can to take this team to the top.

 

(His wrist twinges in pain, and he wraps a wristband around it and continues to practice.

He can’t fail in this too.)

 

Oishi can’t help but think, if only they had shown this much focus in practice usually, maybe the entire match with Atobe Keigo could have been avoided, and from the way everyone else runs their laps with grim determination and minimal grumbling along with a deadly fear of Inui’s bubbling juice, the team probably feels the same way.  

He has to do a good job of running the team. He won’t be able to face Tezuka otherwise, if he brings the team they have so painstakingly built over three years to ruin.

_( “You have to take care of yourself- don’t worry about the team! We’ll be fine, really.”_

_“Of course.” Tezuka nods, standing a hairbreadth away from him, squeezing his shoulder with her right hand in gentle reassurance, as if it never occurred to her things would be anything else. “They have you.” )_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave comments or Kudos if liked!
> 
> (also i was just so exhausted with university i hadn't had any brain space to write stuff recently oops)


	7. 5 Girls that Echizen Ryoma (could have) loved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long hiatus- schoolwork was kicking my ass!
> 
> (also this is the first in four parts originally it should be "20 girls echizen ryoma (could have) loved" but it would have taken too long)

One

Ryuuzaki Sakuno is timid and quiet, more prone to giving in than standing up for herself, and it’s only a coincidence that he happens to stand up for her in the train. It’s nothing big; bullies are nothing to be worried about and Ryuuzaki pays him back in information that turns out to be faulty, and he really wishes he kept his mouth shut on the train and just minded his own business.

(No he doesn’t, because bullying is something that should be stopped. People who pick on others are pathetic, and so are the people getting picked on.

Ryuuzaki better learn to stand up for herself soon. The world will swallow her whole otherwise, and leave nothing but her hair clips behind.)

 

Two

Momo-sempai is loud, just like the girls he knew back in America, which makes her exceptionally noisy by Japanese standards. She slings an arm around him after their first informal match, and casually ruffles his hair and they go for burgers together, with him protesting all the way. She responds by giving him head noogies while he flails about like a petulant child, and they both laugh and race each other to Maji Burger, loser pays for food.

He sees Momo-sempai eat, and vows never to pay for her food again. He’s going to use the cute junior card next time (always, for the _rest of his life_ ) to get out of payment, or maybe teach Momo-senpai to speak good English so she can go to America and eat Burger King, Mos Burger, and Subway out of business.

When he tells her this, she accuses him of being an uncute junior, and he retorts that he rather be uncute than a greedy pig, and she throws a packet of half-opened tomato sauce at him, and he retaliates with a mayonnaise sauce packet, and from there it generates into a playful fight that ends with them getting thrown out of Maji Burger, but not before Momo-sempai sneaks out her leftover fries in a tissue paper, and _eww,_ Momoshirou threatens to wipe her oily fingers all over his face if he doesn’t help her and Ryoma really needs to find more classy friends and-

He’s smiling. He’s smiling, even though he’s carrying Momo-sempai’s half-eaten burger after being thrown out of Maji Burger over a fight she started and he wants to laugh at how Momo-senpai looks like a hamster with her cheeks full of French fries.  

He’s still not paying for her burgers though. Not now, not ever.

 

Three

Tezuka-buchou is one of the most terrifying girls he has ever met, and he grew up with Echizen Rinko, cutthroat lawyer extraordinaire, for a mother. She looks at him with appraising eyes, judging him before he has even done anything yet.

(Maybe that’s why she’s judging him, he hasn’t done anything of notice yet, _not yet_ , talented first-year in Seigaku, his father still wins every match while reading his dirty magazines, and it stings like soap on scratches left by Karupin. He knows about Tezuka Kunimitsu, in her first year she snuck into a Boy’s tournament and got away with it, and she is Captain now, she changed everything and _he can’t even beat his own father._ )

Tezuka-buchou is intimidating without trying to be, and he stands a little straighter but still can’t look her in the eye, choosing instead to stare at her tennis shoes, and when she speaks, the entire club keeps quiet to listen.

Tezuka-buchou is also very good at tennis, despite having long hair. Ryugazaki should take lessons from her.

When she beats him (utterly annihilates him, his brain unhelpfully supplies), she still stays to talk to him, to help him back up again, to teach him what she sees when she stands on the court, to show him the world he could take, for himself and for Seigaku, and how for her, they are one and the same, and he wonders, how could he have been so blind.

He plays Tezuka-buchou and it’s a revelation. He loses and it’s the first time he tastes air.

 

Four

Kikumaru-sempai is ridiculously _touchy_ all the time, she glomps him with depressing regularity, squeezing easily between him and Momo-sempai, all easy hugs and smiles, the ends of hair tickling his cheek as she presses her face close to his and goes “Ochibi is _so cute_ Oishi take a photo don’t you think he looks cute too?”

Momo-sempai is no help at all, giggling at his attempts to escape the affectionate headlock he’s trapped in. Fuji-sempai is even more unhelpful, whipping out his infernal camera and taking photo after photo even when Ryoma is scowling heavily at the lens, at Kikumaru-sempai, at the world, for having to deal with this indignity.     

Kikumaru-sempai’s tennis is amazing though, the way she and Oishi-sempai move together like two halves of a whole, consistently complimentary, and sometimes it makes him wistful, sometimes he wishes for someone that can match him step for step, for someone to know how he moves better than he knows himself, but he knows it’s impossible.

There is no one skilled and insane enough to try it with him, and there needs to be at least two people for a doubles pair.

(He is learning though, that there can be more than two in tennis, there can be three-four-six-nine and more, and it’s alright.

It’s more than alright.)

 

Five

Ryoma finds himself getting jealous of Kawamura-sempai’s arm muscles, well-defined after hauling crates on a daily basis for her family’s restaurant. Her biceps are twice the size of his, and no amount of weight-lifting is going to give him guns as good as hers, he notes with shame, at least not until the puberty fairy finally decides to visit him and maybe _make him grow taller._

He hears whispers of senior boys making fun of Kawamura-sempai for having gorilla arms and thighs for tree trunks, and he wants to scrub those remarks away, preferably through a direct serve to the black hole that is their mouths, but he takes deep breaths ( _tennis should not be used to hurt people_ , he recalls) and decides on something better.

He gives their names to Fuji and Inui-sempai. The boys are suspiciously absent for a week, and when they do come back, Ryoma never hears a peep about Kawamura-sempai leave their sad excuse of mouths.

Kawamura-sempai could have taken care of it herself, she could have lifted their sorry asses up with one hand and tossed them out the window like they were nothing, and they _are_ nothing, but Kawamura-sempai is too nice to do such a thing, so Seigaku does it for her, with terrifyingly ruthless efficiency.

And because he is part of Seigaku, he makes sure to stick out his foot to ‘accidentally’ trip one of the bullies in the cafeteria, and smirks as the boy’s katsudon splashes all over his freshly-washed, very white uniform shirt.

Fuji-sempai gives him a cheerful wave from the other end of the cafeteria, where they’ve saved him a seat.  No doubt Fuji-sempai saw everything. Kawamura-sempai just sighs beside him and tells him to _stop picking on him, haven’t they suffered enough_?

Ryoma thinks of the sad look in Kawamura-sempai’s eyes as she heard their whispers, of the way she stared at the floor and all but ran past them to get away, of the gentle way she smiled at the team and said _it’s alright, I’ve gotten used to it_

And he tilts his chin defiantly. “No they have not.”  

(When Akutsu Jin comes around and disrespects tennis, hurls abuse at anyone near him, who dares hurt Kawamura-sempai, Ryoma feels no guilt in beating him into the ground. Kawamura-sempai deserves better than this thug for a friend.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave comments/kudos if you liked it!


	8. Valentine's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silver Pair- VALENTINE'S DAY. Someone save Ohtori.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this idea in mind for the longest time, now that finals are over I can finally finish it!
> 
> Also known as the chapter where Ohtori gets lots of chocolate.

Choutarou presses the doorbell again. It was an ordinary morning, that just happened to be his birthday, that just happened to coincide with society’s convention of giving sweets that happened to be made of cocoa to the ones they adore. Choutarou gamely ignores the fact that for most of his life, his birthday gifts have consisted of mostly chocolate- at least he got birthday gifts this year. Last year’s haul was entirely honmei-choco, much to his sister’s amusement.

“Hold it- I’m coming!” He hears Shishido-san yell from her modest two-storey house. Mochi barks in response. It was rare, for Shishido-san to not be ready to leave when he arrived. They have been going to school together; morning practice has started an hour early after their loss to Seigaku, and Shishido-san’s mother was concerned with the fact that her only daughter was walking to school alone in the dark. Shishido-san had protested that _Japan has headlights Mom I’ll be fine Choutarou lives so far from me don’t make him do this,_ and while Choutarou knows logically that Shishido-san could probably outfight any thug that tried to jump her, he had agreed to walk her to school.    

“Choutarou? What are you doing here?” Shishido-san asks, perplexed, wearing an apron dusted with flour, her hair a frizzled mess. “Morning practice is- oh crap it’s this late already-“ Shishido-san runs her fingers through her short hair, the gesture so familiar at this point it sends fondness trailing down his spine.

“You have flour in your hair Shishido-san.” He points at the brown strands flaked with white, mindful of the gap between her hair and his fingers.

“I do? Holy shit- never mind I’ll just go change- will be done in five!” Shishido-san turns around and he hears her run up the stairs. Shishido-san’s mother comes to the door instead, chuckling lightly.

“Thanks so much for doing this Ohtori-kun.” Shishido-san’s mother smiles at him, eyes twinkling. “It is good that my daughter has such a reliable man in her life.”

Before Choutarou can sputter out a reply, Shishido hurtles down the stairs at an impressive speed, carrying her bags. “Mom don’t embarrass him-“ she growls while wrestling with her shoe laces. “It’s his birthday.” She stands up and hands him a plastic bag, where a package wrapped in plain blue wrapping paper rests neatly. He picks it up, admiring the neat edges and the tiny silver bow sitting daintily at the side.

“I wrapped it for her,” Shishido-san’s mother pipes out cheerfully.

“I can tell.” Choutarou tries hard not to laugh at Shishido-san’s disgruntled look.

“Ryouko chose it though. She spent a really long time looking-“

“Alright we are going off now- bye Mom!” Shishido-san all but runs off with her tennis bag, her hat hastily jammed on her head. Her school bag sits innocently in the hallway.

“Look after my daughter for me.” Her mother passes Choutarou the schoolbag. “I’m counting on you Choutarou-kun. Happy birthday.”

-

“Happy Valentine’s day Ohtori-kun!” Another one of his schoolmates stands in front of him as he tries to balance the staggering amount of chocolate already in his hands, the sharp edges of the boxes poking his arms. The boxes had looked remarkably harmless, wrapped in paper in various hues of baby pink with silk bows stuck tastefully on them, yet they had the potential to do great harm, Choutarou muses.  Shishido-san had taken one look at his haul and left to look for a bag, leaving him alone. His schoolmate gingerly places hers on top of the countless others, and bows low after making sure that her box wasn’t going to fall.

“I know you already have someone right now, but please let me continue to support you!” Her voice rings loudly in the hallway. Students are staring. He notices a group of girls giggling from the corner of his eye. Ohtori feels his ears heat up. He doesn’t have a special someone, _not really_. He and Shishido-san passed by many couples on the way to school, with girls giggling sweetly behind their hands, blazers pressed closely together in the cold, boys taking advantage of the cold to sling an arm around their loves. It would have been so easy; to sling an arm around Shishido-san’s shoulders, if not for the fact he knew she would shake him off.

“Thank you for your support.” He tries to return the bow as much as he can, the chocolate boxes poking his chest. The girl nods and runs off, which leaves him standing in the hallway getting gawked at by first years that have no idea how someone could conceivably have received enough chocolate that they could be piled in their arms like a Jenga tower. These first years clearly have not met Atobe, Choutarou thinks wryly, who had received enough chocolate to feed the whole of Hyoutei for a week, or Oshitari, who had to borrow Mukahi-senpai’s locker to store his.

Hiyoshi walks by.

“You can use my locker.” Hiyoshi helps him hold some of the boxes.

“Thank you.” Choutarou replies, relieved.

“Happy birthday.” Hiyoshi smiles, and it’s a rare enough sight that several students gape at him. “May Shishido get you chocolates this year.”

-

“Wow Ohtori you sure are a lady killer!” One of his classmates takes one look at the bag, then at his desk, then at the several boxes stacked on top of one another on the floor so as to not block the narrow aisle between tables. Chocolates had greeted him at his desk, most likely from those too shy to approach him face to face.  It was a stark contrast to the empty, chocolate-less tables around him, and he suspects the only thing that’s stopping them from hitting him in jealousy is his height and Shishido-san’s fist.

“Which one is her’s?” Another classmate asks.

“Whose?” Choutarou asks, confused.   

“You know- _her’s!”_

 _Shishido-san._ “She didn’t give me one.”

“What?” “But how?” “But why?” were several exclamations from his classmates who clearly had too much free time to speculate on the love lives of others instead of managing their own. It wasn’t as though he was Atobe-san, who had notoriety, gossip and worship dogging his steps.

“But nothing.” He answers firmly, taking out his textbook. “We don’t have that kind of relationship.”

-

“Hey Choutarou are you free after practice? I have something to give you.”

Shishido-san’s words echo in his head. His serve flies out of bounds.

-

Evening practice is over, but the adrenalin is still flowing in his body, and he has to stop himself from fidgeting as he stands in front of Shishido-san’s house.

Shishido-san comes out of the house holding a box. He reminds himself to breathe.

“This is for you. I know you said you didn’t want chocolate for your birthday- but this is not for your birthday.” Shishido-san’s face gets redder and redder with each word, illuminated by street lights, and he is reminded of that fateful moment on the street court where his serve struck her palm like a needle in a compass spinning to meet true north, the culmination of desperate effort and intense _needwanthope._

This and that are not too different, he thinks.

Mochi barks from inside the house, and the faint laughter of Shishido-san’s neighbours can be heard, along buzzing of electricity and wind chimes ringing in the night air.

“What?” He asks, barely loud enough to be heard, heart thumping with something that may be hope.

“Happy Valentine’s day Choutarou. Sorry it’s so late. It was supposed to be done last night but I fucked up the recipe and had to do them over-“

“You stayed up late to make this. You _woke up early_ to make this.” Choutarou holds the box with trembling hands.

Shishido-san runs her hand through her hair- an anxious gesture, he knows, but what does she have to be anxious about- Shishido-san knows him better than anyone else, so she should _know_ that whatever she chooses to give him, he will accept. The fact that she made chocolates for him, trying recipes over and over again, just like those nights on the street courts where she got up over and over again, makes his heart ache.

If those bruises on Shishido-san then were a love letter to tennis, then this, her slightly misshaped tennis balls packed in a generic lunch box-

Breathe. Cold air fills his lungs. His breath comes out in short puffs. His fingers are trembling in gloves Kabaji knitted for the team.

“Yeah- that’s because I’m really bad at stuff like this.” Shishido-san shrugs. “I wanted to get you something in return.”

“In return?” Choutarou asks.

“You know-“ Shishido-san waves an arm around, encompassing them in their tennis uniforms, their racquets packed carefully in their bags, their reign as Hyoutei’s best double’s pair, “for like everything. I would have made some for Atobe too but let’s face it- he has over a thousand boxes, he’s not going to miss one- Choutarou are you alright?” Shishido-san’s concerned eyes peered at him, frowning. “You don’t look so good- do you want to come in-“

Choutarou breathes again. The air was colder now, and it made it hard to breathe deeply. His chest hurt. His birthday gift from Shishido-san still sits in his bag, unopened.

“No it’s fine Shishido-san.” The cold air was freezing his cheeks. Maybe he should ask Kabaji for a scarf instead. “I’m sure it’ll taste delicious.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave comment and kudos if liked! (also hug choutarou thanks he needs it)


	9. the time between valentines and white day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thesis has ended, silver pair refuses to leave me, SO HERE YOU HAVE IT

“Where did you get this guy Ryo-chan?” Shishido Ryota, fresh university student but an old hat at being an older annoying sibling, leans against the sink with a dishcloth in his hands, head tilted in the direction of the living room where Choutarou was accidentally charming everyone else in her family.

“From his mother’s womb.” Shishido answered flatly as she scrubs the dishes. She is on dishwashing duty today; Choutarou had offered to help her, but she sent him outside- he was a guest, albeit a very regular one, he’s not going to be subjected to dishwashing duty when there are other idle hands that belong to an older brother that cannot keep his mouth shut to do the job. “What do you think?”

“I always knew you preferred younger men.” Her brother nods in what he thinks is a wise manner, but in Ryoko’s own opinion it makes him look like a bobble-head toy. “Ever since the thing with Takumi-”

“There was nothing with Takumi! I was five!” Shishido scowls and flicks her wet hands in his direction. Unfortunately her brother dodges the spray of dirty dishwashing liquid easily.

“And he was four!” Her brother delightfully adds. “I remember the wedding though, it was very sweet." He sighs dramatically. "There were balloons. I popped three of them. You cried and he had to hold your hand.”

“Do you actually have a point to make stupid aniki?” Stupid sauce stains. Ryoko stares at the fine china plates with delicate flowers carved on them (her mother always brings out the nicer plates when Choutarou comes for dinner, even though Choutarou comes for dinner so much more often than her own brother does) and refuses to look at her older brother.

“Yeah well, I was actually going to warn you in case he tries to corrupt you, but after meeting him I am actually more worried about him than you. Be gentle with him.”

“Jeez. Thanks for that vote of confidence.”

“Seriously though,” Ryota waves an arm in Choutarou’s general direction. “He comes from a rich family, plays musical instruments, is good at sports,” Shishido Ryota counts off each point with his fingers, “not bad looking either, has biceps the size of my thighs, adores you to the point of nausea… Mom’s ecstatic you know.”

“We are not actually dating, stupid brother. I am fourteen!” The plate slips out of her hands and clatters ungracefully into the sink. Ryoko lets out an irritated hiss and mutters something like "you're just scrawny do you even lift" that Shishido Ryota decides to ignore because he is a kind and thoughtful older brother. Ryoko meanwhile, hopes the edges of the plate don’t chip; her mum would be upset.

“Shishido-san, is everything alright?” Choutarou pokes his head into the kitchen doorway. Ryoko sincerely hopes he heard nothing. “I can do it instead. I brought fruits for you to eat outside.”

“It’s fine Choutarou! You’re a guest! You don’t need to bring fruits or do dishes.”

Her brother’s raised eyebrows are very loud, for Shishido Ryota remembers the many times Akutagawa Jirou and Mukahi Gakuto were forced to do dishes when they came over because _just because you are my friends doesn’t mean I’ll let you eat for free idiots._

“Alright. But call me if you need help!” Choutarou smiles; and she can’t help but smile back. “I’ll save some watermelon for you.”

“Thanks Choutarou.” Ryoko waves as he goes back to the living room.

“You are right.” Her brother says, with the voice of a man whose advice constantly falls on deaf ears, for he has never felt so ignored in his own home as he did in that one minute, with that boy’s eyes never leaving his younger sister. He starts to wash the mugs, while Ryoko picks up another the plate from the sink of dirty water and starts scrubbing. “You are definitely not dating.”

“Glad you finally get it idiot brother.”

“The both of you are already married.”

The second plate (with the same flower carvings) clatters into the sink. It ends up chipped. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Leave comment or Kudos if liked! (also the whole pillar of support convo comes afterwards, when yamato is closer to graduating and passes the reins to tezuka)


End file.
